Howl-o-ween

I don't do Halloween costumes anymore. It's not that I don't love a good game of dress-up, because I do. Back in college, I had a long line of great costumes. Audrey Hepburn, Samantha the year we were the girls from SATC, Tina Turner (yes, really). I loved dressing up. I appreciate a well thought-out costume. A creative costume.

In 2006, the creative costume bug hit me, coincidentally the same year I decided to dabble with lighter colored hair. I was Monica Lewinsky. Complete with beret, cigar, blue dress with an, ahem, "stain" my mother of all people helped me concoct. And a badge I cooked up that said, "Special access: Oval Office."

A bunch of my friends went out (sexy cowgirl, sexy fairy...sigh...) that night to da clubs, where of course you ran into the scantily clad firefighter, the naughty naughty devil, a barely-there-nighty-wearing angel, etc. I looked like an old school marm next to all of that -- I was wearing a knee-length dress for crying out loud! The most horrific part of it all was the lack of recognition. I had people my own age who had never even heard of this Monica character. Is she a spy? One guy asked me my name and I answered, "Monica Lewinksy." He asked me where I worked...he was really making it way too easy. I told him I was a white house intern. "That's cool! But, well, Monica, you should be careful not to lose your badge." The worst part, he was serious. I walked away. Shoulders slumped. Spirit broken.

The next year I toyed around with being Tonya Harding. You know, french braid, ice skates, an old Olympics sweatshirt, crowbar...but no. I knew that in these days of sexy mermaid, sexy teacher, sexy cop, I was setting myself up for heartbreak once more.

So until I can top Monica, *no pun intended* in a world where creative and thought-out costumes are appreciated, consider me in early costume retirement.

Designer's Block

Listen, I know it's a bad time to be complaining about a job, not to mention a job you love. That's why I'm not complaining. However, I am blaming my job for causing my designer's block when it comes to actually starting my wedding invitations. I liken it to a chef who cooks all day at a restaurant and then comes home to find out they've got to cook dinner for their family. A craft you love, suddenly turned into a chore.

I place 100% of the blame on the fact that on any given weekday, I spend between 8-10 hours hunched over my computer at work...ruining my eyesight. Threatening my wrists with carpel tunnel. Severely impeding my posture. I blame my job as the reason why I'm delaying starting the task I thought I'd most enjoy about wedding planning. This should be so fun for me -- no boss to approve my design concept! No customer to insist I make a logo bigger (or, let's be honest here, add 14 more logos!)! No "helpful insights" from anyone other than myself and J.

I've already completed several crafts for the wedding, oh yes, so that's not the problem. But, it's totally the government's fault if--come a few months from now--you receive a folded 8.5 x 11 piece of white typing paper, hand-scrawled in black ink, with "Will you please come to my wedding? You know who I'm marrying and you know where it is. Check yes or no."

Aaggghh! Why can't I start? Maybe next week...

There is an important lesson here. When you spend all day doing your laundry and decide to toss all of your clean clothes on the guest bed to sort through later, a mid-sized Frito-smelling dog might come make a nest in it.

J, you listening?

Out with the old

I got up this morning to start the process of swapping my summer/winter wardrobes, and in the process, filling up a load headed for the thrift store. Once I got my closet all nice and cleaned up, and a donation bag completely filled (seriously need to do this more often), I decided to tackle a more sensitive area in my closet: shoes and purses. Oh what a trip to the past...mostly to one place specifically -- Springfield, Missouri.

Here's what I found when cleaning out the 8 purses I'm donating:

- $30 in change. Seriously.

- Approximately 62 bobby pins, all of them the black variety as I had much darker hair in college -- J will be so excited there are more in the house! :)

- Not one, but TWO Harrah's rewards cards. Strange, I don't have any memories of ever being at a Harrah's...girls am I missing something?

- A one-inch by one-inch square picture of LEMonade's face -- I have no idea what this was about?

- A ticket stub from when we went to see Seinfeld.

- The ticket stub from going to see "The Notebook" at Campbell 16 Cine. Ahh I remember that night well. And for the record, it was June 25, 2004, in case you wanted to know.

- An ID card for blood donation -- that was before they decided I can't give blood anymore because I lived in Germany in a certain span of years.

- A punch card for Rock-n-Roll...no surprise there.

- About 10 half-used packs of gum.

- And possibly my favorite: a receipt Trolley's on May 11, 2004, for one Pineappletini and one Sunshine Wheat. I bet that was a fun night. :)

No mint on this pillow

Over the past few days I've noticed something a bit strange going on in my office. My home office. My "office" AKA my spare bedroom-sized closet. Every day when I've come home from work, I noticed that the duvet on the guest bed has been quite literally turned down, like it was a bed in a high-end hotel awaiting a pair of newlyweds. Seeing how we haven't had a guest for a month or two, and how we're anything but high-end, it got me wondering what was going on. Perhaps dear sweet J decided to crash there after an all-nighter at work? But I should've known. Last night I passed by her in the hallway as she trotted out of my office in the dark. She gave me her best "Who me? I was simply looking for my misplaced tussy mussy!" waggle, waggle, pet-me-and-forget-all-your-troubles face.

But this morning, oh I was too fast for her. Caught in the act. Behold the culprit. Miss Mary. Such a lady. She doesn't sleep on beds. She sleeps in beds.

Fallin'

Oh man, I know I'm going to regret it later -- say, in a month -- but I couldn't be happier that fall is finally here! Low: 55, High: 60. And while this year has had its share of challenges, a quick look back in my pictures folder reminds me that this weekend last year I had just found our condo. And ohhh to know that this winter will not involve moving! In all likelihood, next year might. Into a house. Where J can plant our dream garden.

Until then, I'll continue to enjoy the fall things I love the most. Walk the dogs around the 'hood in my favorite royal blue trench. Unearth my fall wardrobe and start wearing turtleneck sweaters again. Read more. Drink coffee on the porch before bed -- decaf of course. Just spending more time at home. Carve the pumpkins that we got on this amazing trip a few weeks back (when fall was masquerading as summer). That's when B revealed she could SAY MY NAME. Best day ever.

Future mom-in-law, future niece, future husband, future uncle

New to the fall lineup: My parents are coming to visit for Thanksgiving! Well, my mom for sure, hopefully my dad. We'll be joining J's fam, throwing two more people into last year's already huge event. I'm so excited for my parents to meet the aunts, uncles, NIECE, cousins, and grandparents I've been telling them about for two years. Oh...and there's a plan that involves wedding dress shopping...

A Lesson in Law -- from a graphic designer

In five more days, it'll be a month since the car wreck I was in. Apparently I downplayed the severity, and people are still shocked to find I'm still tooling around in a rental car. Which means in five more days, that's right, my car will have also been gone for a month...and then some more. So in light of distracting myself from the pain and agony of driving a PT Cruiser, I'll share with you some new words I've learned through the accident/insurance/car repair process.

Subjugate: I don't know what this means other than something having to do with who pays for what. Anytime they say it to me I black out.

Diminution: As in "Diminution of Value" claim. More easily called "depreciation" because I cannot, for the life of me, pronounce "diminution." Say you have two Jettas. Same graphite blue, same lovely interior, same price, same everything. You find out one has been in an accident and had serious body repairs. Which one do you buy? The difference between the offer you pay for the unwrecked Jetta and what someone appraises my Jetta to be worth, that's the diminished value. Yes, I shall be filing a claim.

Tort: This is a refresher, guys, you remember this one from high school. Since future "father-at-law" had been giving me legal advice following the accident, it really inspired me to do some research on my own. Diminished Value claims fall under Tort Law. Or something.

Third Party: This is the ticket. When filing a DV claim, it's most assuredly tossed out when it's your own insurance company (AKA first party). But in my case, since I was hit by another person who was obviously breaking the law, her insurance company has accepted liability. Which means that when I file with her insurance company, it falls under a third party claim -- which they usually always pay. Because they just spent nearly $4,000 fixing your car. How can they tell you that didn't affect the value of your poor car that you officially bought a year ago last week?

I also fear I won't be able to drive a manual when Ludwig comes back.